the misadventures of someone who prolly STILL shouldn't be allowed to raise children...

Monday, March 27, 2006

The thing that I love about my husband's family is their ability to take any blessed event and turn it into an opportunity to show off their very best passive aggressive dance moves. Ordinarily, I wouldn't mention it, but as they are doing their best to drag me into it, I am forced to dust off my legwarmers and jazz hands and "Express Myself!"

I think that I have done a fair job of introducing y'all to my MIL. But, in order to really understand what is going on with this situation, I have to now share some additional information on my SIL and the family dynamics. In the interest of time, I am going with the cliff notes format, complete with bullets:

My SIL is a little fanatic… she is a high-maintenance parent, overly concerned with germs, safety, and the media's danger du jour. As such, it is often difficult for her to keep perspective.

My MIL does not really like my SIL, although I suspect that this is less about SIL and more about my MIL's belief that the only woman good enough for her sons is her.

It probably doesn't help that these two women live less than 5 miles door to door from each other, go to the same church, etc. etc. etc. (I mean, have these people not heard of BOUNDARIES?)

There have been no less than ten confrontations between SIL and MIL re: the raising of our first niece (3 yrs old), including one episode, involving a three page baby-care instruction manual and a trash can, which found me trapped me in the middle.

My BIL and N. are both afraid of their mother. I have never seen two grown men (short of those who attended Catholic School) quake in fear when forced to confront an older woman. Granted, her fits are a sight to behold and I have seen her swing a golf club, but come on...

Currently, I am the ranking favorite with my MIL, due in large part to the fact that early on (despite vehement protests from N.) I subtly indicated that I would not be a party to her manipulation and I also have the benefit of 1200 miles distance. (see, BOUNDARIES... an effective family management tool)

About three weeks ago, my BIL and SIL received a visit from the stork who dropped off a brand new baby girl, 5 weeks early. [I claim that the stork stopped by as my SIL is known for her ridiculously short labours. This one clocked in at a remarkably irritating 2.25 hours -- from first contraction to baby on the ground. Her first labour came in just under 4 hours. I wanted her daughter to provide Bean in-utero instructions on evacuation procedures to encourage his speedy disembarking, but alas, my SIL felt this might be a wee inappropriate for a then 2-year old.] This is her second preemie, our first niece was born about 7 weeks early.

Mama and baby are doing great and all appeared to be going gangbusters. That is until last week, when the curtain went up on the Beavertuckey Dancers' performance, "did grandma shake the baby?" Back by popular demand from its long run in 2003. It goes without saying that all of the information that I have on the incident comes secondhand from N. who heard it from his brother and mother direct from a source. Totally reliable. So, first the facts... my comments added in parentheses.

Last week, after some two weeks of loudly complaining that SIL was not letting her see enough of the grandbabies (I can't quite articulate how much IS enough, as I think that she sees A LOT of them already, but I digress), my MIL bundled up and headed out over the treacherous five miles to see the newest addition to the family. Sometime during the visit, MIL began bouncing the two week old on her lap. SIL calmly asked her to stop as she "is really concerned about shaken baby syndrome." (I have seen my MIL bounce a baby and, to be fair, she is a bit aggressive in the way that she handles small children with poor neck control... and SIL's babies are preemies which naturally makes a mama more concerned. That said, she certainly is not treating the baby as if it were a raw chicken part in a bag of shake and bake...) MIL promptly handed the baby over to FIL and has not held the baby since (because this is, of course, the mature way to handle the situation).

Several days later, while the family was once again gathered for a little passive-aggressive tension, MIL broke from the scripted choreography and into a daring dance solo. She quite bluntly pointed out to SIL that her feelings were deeply hurt by the "shaken baby concerns" and went on to explain that no one in the family appreciates her (prompted by N.'s helpful comment that if MIL was hurt by SIL's concerns that she should just speak up and stop bothering us about it). All MIL wants to do is help and no one wants her around (this is something she does A LOT... somehow any disagreement with her is a reflection of our lack of love and appreciation). SIL promptly broke into a teary explanation that she doesn't feel respected and that it is within her right to be concerned about her babies and to dictate their care (prompted by my BIL's helpful suggestion that if she felt uncomfortable with something MIL was doing that she should speak up and stand her ground and stop bothering him about it).

They are now at an impasse, of course. No one is speaking and no one is bouncing this poor baby. The "boys" have come to me looking for some help. BIL and N. want me to step in and calm SIL down... talk her off her fence so to speak, encourage her to lighten up about the bouncing and give their mom some slack. There is also a suggestion to speak to MIL and get her to see the lighter side of the situation. But here is the thing... I don't want to get involved. Mostly because it is none of my business.

Also because I have nothing to gain from getting involved... regardless of who I personally think is in the right here. In fact, getting involved will surely only make things more difficult for me and I am pretty darn sure that if the tables were turned, SIL would not be rushing to my aid. This is their issue and they really need to work it out themselves.

And for those keeping track... I think SIL has the defensible position. Yes, she is overreacting about the bouncing. I don't think that MIL is going to cause brain damage... mostly, it just looks uncomfortable to the baby. But, it is SIL's kid, which means her rules... so even if MIL thinks that SIL is bat-shit crazy, as long as SIL is not harming her children, its her way or the highway...

Am I being a bitch by not getting involved? In the interest of familial relations, should I just be helpful? Or, is butting my nose in just going to get it chopped off?

Sunday, March 19, 2006

So, here's a big secret for my faithful Wubbies... N. and I are trying. There I said it. I have probably jinxed us, but needless to say I gots to work some stuff out.

I was introduced to the world of blogging while I was looking for information the first time around. Based on my health history and everything my doctor had told me, we fully expected to struggle to get Bean. Mentally, I prepared for a very long, hard, and likely expensive road. We discussed the lengths to which we would be willing to go. I convinced N. to start trying a few months earlier than we had originally planned because it would likely take a lot longer to "git 'er done". Anyway, long story, only slightly shorter...

We pulled the goalie and BOOM... and after three days of trying, we started this crazy ride. N. loves to point out that he was cheated out of the only good part of trying to get pregnant... the month after month after month of the attempt. He also brags about being SUPER fertile. I guess that you can have it both ways after all... Congrats kiddo, your boys have got propellers.

...............

We have not been as fortunate this time around. And let me be clear, lest I offend... I am not trying to lay claim to any kind of fertility issue. I would not be so foolish as to compare our couple of months of half-hearted efforts with people who truly struggle trying to become parents. No, what I am referring to is more a matter of passion -- of commitment to the art of baby-making. (hehe, that sounds kind of dirty. Get your mind out of the gutter... I am not talking about THAT either.)

My head is not in the game. Last time, I was on top of all those little details you are on top of when you are working to have a baby -- things that I will not spell out for you as writing them down for others to read makes me feel all wormy inside (yes, even after having a team of perfect strangers become intimately familiar with my lady bits). But this go around, I seem to have developed a counting problem, along with a terrible case of ADHD. Ultimately, this begs the question, why?

At first, I thought that it was a simple case of being too busy with the kid we already have to be able to zero in on making the next. But as I thought more about it, could it be that I am not ready for this? Is it possible that this is some involuntary way of keeping me from setting off on a journey without the proper shots and paperwork?

We want to have our kids close together. And I love the idea of being pregnant again. I loved being pregnant, every minute of it. And I also know that I want MORE kids... sort of.

Here it is... I think. I am freaked out about being a mom to any more kids... Lets face it, being a mom to one is hard enough. Isn't that why most of us do this blogging thing? I mean, aside from the fame. As an outlet for all of the misgivings and doubts, a place to vent about the less than stellar moments in parenting?

I am an only child... I have no idea what it is like to have siblings, or sibling rivalry for that matter. I have no model for dealing with the needs of two young children and that kind of freaks me out.

When Bean was born, I was simply overwhelmed by my capacity for love and then, my capacity for WORRY. How can I possibly LOVE any more? How can I possibly WORRY any more? Quite honestly, there are days when I feel like I am barely holding shit together as it is and I think about how freaking overwhelmed I was when Bean was 8 weeks old. He is a pretty independent little man sometimes more than I would like, but there are days when all he wants to do is hang off of me. He is the light of my day and it is so incredibly important to me that he knows that, that he knows how much he has added to my life.

How does that work when there are two? How do you add another and not lose what you have with the first?

Can someone explain this to me so that I can get on with the business of building my family?

So, surprise, surprise... I am on the road again. I left the land of Vick's and snot for NYC this morning at the BUTT ASS CRACK OF DAWN. Jet*Blue lost one of my bags... on a direct flight, which simply boggles the mind. THAT is a special kind of competence. I love this airline, as it allows me to continue to feed my insatiable appetite for crap TV even at very, very high altitudes. However, they constantly test the limits of my tolerance. Usually, they get me to my destination a few hours late... this time, I arrived on schedule but, my bag will be delayed by about 10 hours. Why must air travel be so freaking complicated?

OK, rant complete. That might have been more like 13 seconds... So, I appreciate your indulgence... I just needed to get that off my chest.

BTW, for any of you who are interested and have not had the pleasure of experiencing for yourself, the exact sensation that the descent of the plane creates when one is flying with a sinus infection is that of 10 inch steel pins being driven through your cheeks, up through your eyeballs, and back out of your forehead. oh, and that ten inches doesn't refer to length, it refers to diameter. very pleasant indeed.

Yes, I finally went to the doctor and executed what can only be described as the most pitiable "sit-in" ever conceived by man... I insisted that everyone with any medical training examine the contents of my Kleenex and listen as I described in excruciating detail my numerous symptoms until someone would write me a prescription for ANYTHING. At that point, I would have settled for a horse laxative if someone had told me it would help me to breathe. Bean is doing much better on his own, as well. It has been two days since we have seen any evidence that he is producing toxic waste in his nasal passages. knock on wood, but I am almost optimistic enough to say that we might actually have a sick-free weekend. It must be all that good Wubbie mojo you have been sending our way.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

I seem to be writing more of these apologies for my extended absences these days than actual posts, but such is life. I also wish that I had some crazy adventures to excuse my lack of posting... but alas, I can blame it only on the worst invasion of all manner of germs and sickness known to man. The god's honest truth is that Bean and I have been sick in some form since mid-February. From a nasty bout with a rotovirus, to a freaking chest cold with a grip like the jaws of an un-dead pit bull, we have been beaten to a pulp. I used to have grand plans for my future, and when Bean first graced our lives I used to imagine all of the wonderful things he would someday do... now, I am humbled. I wish only that we could both breathe from one nostril 11 hours a day. Preferably, at night. But at this point, Fuck it... it doesn't even have to be a continuous 11 hours.

On top of generally feeling like a fish's ass and trying to amuse and distract a 13 month old who rotates from hyper to pissy to needy to just plain irritating on a 15 minute cycle, work has been ridiculously busy. I have been out of town at least once a week, which I am sure is contributing to our very impressive selection of germs.

We have exhausted all of our options with respect to medications and herbal remedies offered throughout Central Texas. We are resigned to simply waiting it out. (for those of you looking for stock picks, invest in K*imberly Clark, we are single-handedly keeping them in business with our purchases of Klee*nex)

Needless to say that this period of ill has caused irreparable damage to the trust between Bean and me. My pursuit of nose goblins has reached an almost unhealthy level of obsession, consuming every waking moment of my life. Bean now runs screaming for the cover of any large piece of furniture or sympathetic adult when he sees me draw a tissue from the box or round the corner with a wet washcloth.

If you can't tell, I am not a very good sick person. I wish that I could say that I am one of those people who even sick, looks like they could run a marathon and then walk the runway with just a spritz of Evian, while managing a full family schedule. (Actually, I don't really know anyone who is like that, but for some reason, I feel like I SHOULD be like that... despite the fact that I am not even that person when I am feeling 110%...) Even more realistically, I wish that I could be that sick person who just powers through, suffers in silence and no one is the wiser. But, I am not. I prefer to sulk about and garner sympathy from all who come in contact with me. I like to examine the product of each blow into a tissue and share the unbelievable results (in both color and mass) with anyone within viewing distance. Poor N. has been subjected to a flow chart outlining the progression of our sinus infections in vivid detail. Apparently though, my family's and friend's sympathy is easily exhausted. After a mere three weeks, they are actively encouraging me to just get on with it...

And so, I have returned to the bosom of my Wubbies. Embrace me and make me feel better, please. I promise once the funk is clear, I might even have something entertaining to share. maybe...